


Together We

by MadAndy



Category: Robin of Sherwood (TV 1984)
Genre: Gen, Sadness, Self indulgence, Self-Esteem Issues, Time slip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:15:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27441028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadAndy/pseuds/MadAndy
Summary: What if Robin knew the end was coming, and tried to escape it? What would urge him to go back, and do what must be done?
Relationships: Maid Marian/Robin Hood
Comments: 4
Kudos: 5





	Together We

**Author's Note:**

> OK, so ITV4 have been showing RoS and I'd forgotten (a) how bloody good it is, (b) how bloody sexy Michael Praed was back then, and (c) just how much 14 year old me had cried at the end of season 2.
> 
> So I used to write a lot. This is the first thing I've written for years, let alone posted - so please forgive the clunkiness. Sandy isn't me; I've never been in that situation, and hopefully never will be. But it's certainly true that I find the woods a balm to the soul...
> 
> (Oh, I'm working on a Robin/Gisburne, and I couldn't half do with a beta!)

**Together We**

The ground was wet, but there was sunshine on his eyelids; the air smelt strange, but the familiar tang of the forest was present, hidden under an odd alchemical odour. Consciousness fluttered back, although memory remained hazy.

Oh, and he could sense he wasn’t alone.

‘Come on, up you come. Must have been some party,’ said a voice, trying for cheerful but only getting as far as weary. Hard hands pulled at his shoulders, got him upright with his head between his knees.

‘So what are you, then,’ it continued, ‘actor? Nah. Cosplay? Ugh, probably.’

Robin took a deep breath of the strange smelling air, straightened up and opened his eyes.

‘Oh, pretty,’ said the voice, which turned out to belong to a stocky, older individual in a very strange outfit. Unfamiliar fabrics cut in a style he’d never seen before effectively hid any indication of rank, sex or occupation.

‘What are you?’ Robin asked, and the stranger chuckled.

‘Cheeky shit. I came for a walk, left the car back there,’ they waved an arm vaguely behind them, ‘saw a white fallow and followed it. Brought me this far, then I found you - thought you were dead but,’ they smiled and patted him on the back, ‘you’re not. Less paperwork for me, anyway.’

‘Paperwork?’

‘Mate. What _have_ you been taking?’

Robin blinked.

‘Taking?’

The person wiped a hand across their face and bent to peer into his eyes. They frowned and shook their head.

‘Well, you look OK - but you really don’t know what I’m talking about, do you?’

‘No. Are you a man or a woman?’

The strange person rocked back on their heels, eyebrows raised.

‘Rude! But for your information,’ they opened their jacket to show a definite curved shape outlined by stretchy fabric, ‘tits, see? Woman.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he sighed, ‘I don’t know where I am, I’ve just found out I’m going to die and,’ he looked up, blinked deep green eyes and scowled, ‘the air smells funny.’

The woman snorted. ‘You’re an odd one. Alone in the woods dressed like Robin Hood? Come on, I can give you a lift -‘

Robin scrambled to his feet. ‘You know me?’

The woman stared at him for a moment, then held out her hand. ‘My name’s Sandy. You want a brew? I’ve got a flask. Come on, there’s a log over there…’

She kept up a steady chatter until she had the bewildered young man ensconced on the fallen tree, facing the small clearing amongst the thick forest. She opened her flask, poured him a cup of tea and held it out to him.

He leaned forward, took it, sniffed the steam suspiciously and cocked an eyebrow.

She laughed. ‘You are English, yes? It’s tea. You drink it.’

He took a sip, nodded, and had another. Sandy sat cross legged in front of him, twining grass stems around her fingers.

‘What’s your name?”

‘Robin of Loxley. This is good.’

‘I know. Look, this is going to be a weird question, but… what year is this? For you.’

‘1203. Why?’

She hummed, tapped her fingers on her boots. ‘See, I’ve read about stuff like this. They’re called time slips - because for me, it’s 2019.’

Robin stared, then squinted into the middle distance while he worked with the numbers in his head. ‘Over 800 years… is that why the air smells?’

‘You’re taking this very well.’

‘Not the first time I’ve been mucked about by magic.’

She laughed. ‘Oh, you’re a charming boy! Look, if this is a time slip, why would you come here?’

Robin stood, held out his hand to help her up. ‘I was running away. I don’t want to die - it’s too soon. I haven’t finished! What if -‘ he subsided with a sigh. ‘And you?’ he added. ‘What about you? Why would I be brought to you?’

‘Walk with me,’ she said, and tucked his hand in her arm. ‘I got some bad news yesterday, and I have a decision to make. I like to come here to the forest when I need to think. Perhaps the universe thought we could help each other.’

They walked in silence through the dappled shade of the woods until they reached a small lake, tucked away amid the trees. On the far shore a white fallow buck nibbled on the leaves, dark eyes regarding them solemnly even as his milk white coat gleamed in the half light.

‘I have cancer,’ she said quietly, ‘late stage. I have to decide whether to be treated or not. My family wants me to. I’m not sure I see the point.’

Robin shook his head. ‘But you seem so -‘

She nodded. ‘Yeah. It’s like that sometimes. Apparently it can be treated, but…’ she raised a shoulder in a half shrug, and sighed. The buck watched them.

‘Every life is worth living,’ said Robin quietly. 

‘Perhaps. You really are Robin Hood, huh?’

‘Herne called me to be his son. And now he’s going to abandon me -‘

The young man took a deep breath, kept his gaze on the deer on the other side of the lake. 

‘Will it help,’ said Sandy, slowly, ‘to know that after nearly a thousand years your name is still known? It means the fight for freedom, the fight against oppression and fear. Yours is the name that people call out when they must fight against impossible odds. You’re still a hero to the people.’ She turned to face him, gently taking his chin in her fingers until he locked gazes with her. ‘Nothing is forgotten, Robin. Nothing is _ever_ forgotten.’

He nodded slowly, then quirked his lips in a half smile. ‘Fine. But if I’m not allowed to run away, then neither are you. Deal?’

‘Hm. How can I refuse such a handsome stranger?’

He leaned forward, and pressed a soft kiss to her lips.

‘Then it’s sealed. I will go forward to my fate, and so will you.’

‘Fine.’

A movement attracted their attention, and they turned to watch the buck step towards them. He shook his head and walked slowly forward - and out onto the surface of the water.

‘Well, shit,’ said Sandy.

Robin chuckled. ‘So in the future, women swear a lot?’

‘You better believe it.’

As the buck walked toward them a mist rose from beneath his elegant hooves, rolled across the surface of the water and spread outwards. It rose, blurring the outlines of the trees and breathing unreality across the scene.

Sandy held Robin’s hands tight. ‘Good luck, sunshine. Something tells me you’ll need it.’

He bared his teeth, but spared her a quick smile. ‘You too. Be well.’

And with that, the mist rolled over them both.

~*~

Marion sometimes wondered - long after it was all over - just what Robin had meant, the last day before he was taken from them. He’d had some sort of falling out with Herne, and returned late to the camp; when she’d asked him, he’d given her a garbled story of time and people and the future, and how they must never give up.

Of course, it had all ended on top of a hill under a blood red sky. But he’d been hopeful, that last night; Marion, as she faded away in the care of the abbey, clung to that.

~*~

Eight hundred and some years after Robin of Loxley, a middle aged woman allowed a cocktail of toxins to be put into her veins - and felt hope.

~ _Fin_ ~


End file.
